


Money can't buy me love

by makesometime



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (lots of it), Anal Fingering, Canon Asexual Character, I refuse to label this as AU until Jalexander makes it otherwise, Kissing, M/M, Married Sex, Oscar enjoying the luxury that he deserves, Post-Canon, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Sex-Favorable Zolf Smith, They're married and happy and alive and all of this is still possible according to canon SO THERE, other tags include
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: Zolf isn't made for this life. The pomp and the pageantry and the fancy arse business of being aristocracy, or something like it.Oscar, however, decidedlyis.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	Money can't buy me love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that I'm spamming the tag right now and I hope you can all forgive me for it but I'm HIGH ON INSPIRATION and as I'm sure all my fellow writers know you GRIP THAT TIGHT WITH BOTH HANDS. Especially given the inherent risk of writing post-canon fic while canon is still ongoing.
> 
> This is soft and silly and Zolf loving on Oscar because it makes me happy.

Zolf isn’t made for this life. The pomp and the pageantry and the fancy arse business of being aristocracy, or something like it. 

Oscar, however, decidedly _is_.

He looks right at home wandering around the ridiculousness of their suite, naked save for the flute of champagne clutched between his fingers. If it weren’t for the scars dotted (artfully) across his body, Zolf would swear the man no different than the one who he’d met in Hamid’s apartment so many years before.

“This is the _life_ , Zolf.” Oscar sighs, standing in a beam of late afternoon sunlight filtering through their gauzy curtains. “Don’t you think?”

Zolf laughs, eyes fixed on the bountiful curve of Oscar’s arse. “Can’t say I do. Is that the champagne talking?”

Oscar gives a happy little trill of a laugh, downing the rest of his drink with a flourish. It makes the muscles in his back play appealingly under his skin, a sign of the life that led them here, to relative safety in the middle of a rebuilt Cairo.

“Probably. Do you blame me? It’s a celebration, Zolf, and _someone else is paying_.”

That _is_ the satisfying part of these proceedings, he supposes. The benefits of befriending the al-Tahans and their not-inconsiderable wealth and maintaining that connection over the years - an invite to Saira’s wedding was readily forthcoming, and an all-expenses paid trip to Egypt a natural extension to that.

(The bed is softer than any Zolf has ever slept on. _Too_ soft. He can barely get off of it once he’s settled.)

Oscar turns at his continued silence, the sun highlighting him and giving him a shimmering halo that puts Ed to shame - or maybe he’s just a sap in love with a playwright, and it’s rubbing off on him.

“Like what you see, Mr Smith?”

It makes something tighten pleasantly in his belly to observe Oscar at rest and satisfied (and happily, guiltlessly drunk). Zolf stretches out, lifting his arms above his head and watching Oscar’s eyes track the movement.

“You know I do, soppy git.”

Oscar hums, leaning over to drop his glass carelessly on one of the many side tables. With gleaming eyes, he stalks forward, crawling up the bed like some sort of great prowling cat. 

It should look ridiculous. But it’s Oscar, so he somehow pulls it off.

“One of these days our liaisons will start without you calling me names.” He breathes, pressing a kiss to the curve of Zolf’s belly. 

“You telling me you don’t like that?” Zolf hums, tangling his hand in Oscar’s hair and using a harsher grip than normal to tug the man up further. 

Oscar’s eyelids flutter prettily at the sensation, so he clenches his fingers to steal a moan from the man, shivering a little at the open fall of Oscar’s mouth.

His eyes are dark when he rests his chin on Zolf’s sternum, hips shifting against the mattress. “And what if I do?”

Zolf rolls his eyes. “I ain’t making more of a habit of it.”

Oscar’s lips find one of his nipples, playing and tonguing at the nub of flesh with a smirk. “Good. There’s far better uses for both our mouths.”

He tries to scoff, but it’s lost in a groan as Oscar switches across his chest with hot, open-mouthed kisses to steal his other nipple, tongue tracing up across the whorls of the tattoo over his heart.

“Distracting bastard.”

Oscar beams, palm spreading a warm and comforting heat over his ribs. “You love it.”

Zolf hums noncommittally, running a hand down Oscar’s back to settle at the rise of his ass. The man shifts, rocking his hips forwards, tipping his head to the side to hide a moan in Zolf’s skin. He ducks his chin to run lips over Oscar’s temple, feeling something akin to a purr rumble vicariously through him. 

He’s fallen in love with a bloody great cat of a man. Gods. 

“Get up here.” Zolf says, pushing his weight up so that he’s settled against the plush headboard, back braced by what feels like hundreds of down-filled pillows. 

Oscar smiles as he pushes up to swing his leg over Zolf’s thighs, settling his weight down with a happy little sigh. His cock is full, now, flushed and eager and Zolf reaches out to tease his fingers up the underside of it, watching with satisfaction as it jerks and Oscar groans out a grumbling curse.

"Tease…"

Zolf leans up to kiss him, smiling at the way Oscar's hands cup his face and hold him close, hunched in and focusing all of his attention on the embrace. Oscar kisses a hundred ways, from small, chaste little sips to hot, hungry, teeth-clashing need and this is somewhere in the middle, full of tongue but tingling with good humour and gentle reverence. 

Tomorrow their obligations start, today is just for them.

"Oil?" Zolf asks against his lover's lips, both question and request, and Oscar doesn't hesitate in flailing an arm at the bedside table, fetching up a smallish vial without even breaking the kiss. 

Undoing Oscar thoroughly is one of his greatest joys. Feeling the man tremble in anticipation as he slicks up his fingers, the needy rocking of hips, the gasping sound of his name as a plea. Oscar shivers so deliciously when Zolf rubs his fingers deep and searching, pushes back into the stretch and colours the air with his cries so unrepentantly that Zolf ponders for a blissful moment whether they should have closed the windows.

The selfish part of him wins out, the possessive, grateful part that thrills on completely deconstructing one Oscar Wilde, thrills at feeling each clench and pulse and scrabble for purchase, lips at his forehead and breath hot on his skin.

Oscar spills across Zolf’s chest and belly with a ground-out oath, moving until he cannot bear the overstimulation. With a sigh that sounds so blissed-out that Zolf almost _preens_ with it, he falls to the side, tipping his head back into the pillows and laughing through chest-heaving breaths.

“Fuck.”

Zolf chuckles, turning onto his side to observe the man as he comes down, cheeks hot, hair tangled, chest and shoulders pink with a blush that Zolf knows is reflected on his own body.

Oscar reaches out for his hands and with a soft utterance and a wiggle of fingers, prestidigits his skin clean. 

"Enjoy yourself?” Zolf murmurs, linking their fingers and letting Oscar pull them to rest over his heart. It’s racing, a deep and happy _thump-thump-thump_ that skips a beat when Zolf rubs his thumb over a ticklish part of Oscar’s chest.

“Mmm, as if there was any doubt.” Oscar replies. “And you?”

"Always do."

Oscar brings their joined hands to his mouth, pressing his lips to the gold ring on Zolf’s finger. “My husband. How did I get so lucky?”

Zolf smiles. “Ask myself that every day.”

The smile that spreads over Oscar’s face settles a warmth in his chest that nothing else has ever come close to inspiring. Zolf drags a thumb over the line of Oscar’s jaw, just to touch him, just to feel the smooth expanse of his skin.

“I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow?” Oscar murmurs, the excess of colour in his face slowly fading. “I need a date to this dinner, and I’d like to make a good impression.”

“Not sure you wanna be taking me in that case.” Zolf smiles through the peal of Oscar’s delighted laughter.

“I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”


End file.
